Who Shall Go To The Ball?
by SinghSong
Summary: In canon, Harry Potter instantly rejected all the girls who asked him out to the Yule Ball, saying 'no' without a moment's consideration. Here though, he says 'yes' to them all without thinking instead, and finds himself spoiled for choice, facing a bit of a dilemma. Who are all of these girls anyway? And which one should he pick to be his partner for the Yule Ball?
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and the setting of this universe, are the intellectual property of JKR and Warner Brother, not myself- the proceeds and revenues are theirs and theirs alone. All that I own is the OC characters, and the AU information exclusive to my own fanfic.**_

 **Chapter 1- First on the Floor**

 **Thursday 3rd December 1994**

"En Garde!" Harry brandished the fake wand Ron had tossed his way a few seconds earlier, one of Fred and George's latest creations, which promptly turned into a rubber haddock in a puff of smoke as he did.

"Touche!" Ron parried the swipe with his own fake wand, grinning as it transformed into a tin parrot, and countering with a stroke of his own.

It was practically the end of the lesson, and they'd both finished their Transfiguration work a while ago. The guinea fowl which they'd spent the class changing into guinea pigs had all been locked away safe and sound in a large cage on Professor McGonagall's desk- though Neville's still had feathers- and they'd copied down their homework from the blackboard. " _Describe, with examples, the ways in which Transforming Spells must be adapted when performing Cross-Species Switches_ ". The bell was set to ring at any moment, and when Ron had invited him to have a play sword fight, Harry hadn't needed much persuading to join in. After all, he'd killed a basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor a couple of years ago- he couldn't lose. Or so he'd thought, anyway. His jaw dropped in dismay, Harry spluttering in protest as the tin parrot's beak slashed through the neck of the rubber haddock, almost slicing it clean off. "Oi, no fair...!"

"Potter! Weasley! _Will you pay attention_?" Professor McGonagall's extremely vexed voice cracked like a whip through the Transfiguration class. Harry jumped, dropping his stance and looking up toward the front of the class.

"Now that Potter and Weasley have been kind enough to act their age," said Professor McGonagall, tossing angry looks at both him and Ron, "I have something to say to you all. The Yule Ball is approaching — a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament, and an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open only to fourth years and above — although you may invite a younger student if you wish—"

Sitting together at the table directly in front on his and Ron's, Lavender Brown let out a shrill giggle, while Parvati Patil nudged her hard in the ribs, her face working furiously as she too fought not to giggle. Harry cringed uncomfortably as they both turned around to smirk at him. Professor McGonagall ignored them, which Harry thought was distinctly unfair after she'd just told him and Ron off for nothing more than having a laugh.

"Dress robes will be worn," Professor McGonagall continued, "and the ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Now then…" She trailed off, staring deliberately around the class at all of them in turn. "The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to, er — let our hair down," she said, in a disapproving voice.

Lavender giggled harder than ever, with her hand pressed hard against her mouth to stifle the sound. Harry could see what was funny this time though. Minerva McGonagall, with her hair done up in a tight bun, looked as though she'd never let her hair down in any sense.

"But that does NOT mean, that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if a Gryffindor student embarrasses the school in any way."

The bell rang, and there was the usual scuffle of activity as everyone packed their bags and swung them onto their shoulders. They'd already packed theirs before starting their little sword fight though, and in unison with Ron, Harry got up and started heading for the door.

"Potter! A word, if you please." Above the noise, the commanding tone of Professor McGonagall's voice rang out, halting him in his tracks. Mouthing _Bad luck mate_ , offering a conciliatory pat on the shoulder, Ron kept on walking, out the door alongside Hermione, closely followed by a stream of all the others.

Assuming this had something to do with his now-headless rubber haddock, Harry proceeded gloomily to the teacher's desk. Professor McGonagall just sat there though, keeping him waiting in silence until everyone else in the class had gone, and they were the only ones left in the room. "Potter, the champions and their partners-"

"What partners?" said Harry.

Professor McGonagall looked suspiciously at him, as though she thought he was trying to be funny.

"Your partners for the Yule Ball, Potter," she said coldly. "Your _dance partners._ "

Harry's insides seemed to curl up and shrivel. "Dance partners?" He felt himself going red. "I don't dance," he said quickly.

"Oh yes, you do," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "That's what I'm telling you. Traditionally, the champions and their partners open the ball."

Harry had a sudden mental image of himself in a top hat and tails, accompanied by a girl in the sort of frilly dress Aunt Petunia always wore to Uncle Vernon's work parties. "I'm not dancing," he said, shaking his head.

"It is traditional," said Professor McGonagall firmly. "You are a Hogwarts champion, and you will do what is expected of you as a representative of the school. So make sure you get yourself a partner, Potter."

"But — I don't…"

"You heard me, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, in a very final sort of way. Dumbstruck, Harry nodded, turned back around, and dazedly walked towards the door, that sentence still ringing in his ears. _Make sure you get yourself a partner, Potter. You heard me..._

* * *

 **Friday 4th December 1994**

A week ago, Harry would have said that finding a partner for a dance would be a cinch compared to taking on a Hungarian Horntail. But now that he'd already done the latter, and was facing the prospect of asking a girl to the Yule Ball, he reckoned that he'd rather go and have another round with the dragon.

Harry had never known so many people to put their names down to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. He always had, of course, because the alternative was going back to Privet Drive, but he'd always been very much in the minority before now. This year, however, everyone in the fourth year and above seemed to be staying, and to him, they all seemed to be totally obsessed with the coming ball. Or at least all the girls were, and it was amazing how many girls Hogwarts suddenly seemed to hold; he'd never quite noticed that before. Girls giggling and whispering in the corridors, girls shrieking with laughter as boys passed them, girls excitedly comparing notes on what they were going to wear on Christmas night…

"Why do they have to move in packs?" Harry asked Ron as a dozen or so girls walked past them in the corridor, sniggering and staring in his direction. "How're you supposed to get one on their own to ask them?"

"Lasso one?" Ron suggested. "Got any idea who you're going to try?"

Harry didn't answer. He knew perfectly well whom he'd _like_ to ask, but working up the nerve was something else. Cho Chang was a year older than he was, she was very pretty, she was a very good Quidditch player, and she was also very, very popular.

Ron seemed to know what was going on inside his head. "Listen, you're not going to have any trouble. You're a champion. You've just beaten a Hungarian Horntail. I bet they'll be queuing up to go with you."

In tribute to their recently repaired friendship, Ron managed to keep the bitterness in his voice to a bare minimum. Moreover, to Harry's amazement, he turned out to be quite right.

* * *

"Harry! Harry Potter!"

Harry stopped in his tracks, staring across at the girl who'd waved and called out to him in the corridor. Walking alongside him on the way to the most boring class ever, History of Magic, the other Gryffindor guys, Ron, Dean and Seamus, turned to stare as well, as the Hufflepuff girl hastily walked over to them. What'd she want? She wasn't wearing one of those stupid _Support Cedric Diggory_ badges though, unlike practically all the other girls in her house had been for the past few months, so with any luck, she wouldn't be looking to have a go at him.

"Who's she?" Dean asked, out of the corner of his mouth.

"Dunno," Ron murmured. "Swear I've seen her before though — yeah, she's a 3rd year, in the same year as Ginny…"

"Hi, Harry," she said breathlessly, standing right in front of him and nervously twisting a lock of her curly cinnamon-brown hair around one of her fingers.

"Hey there…" Harry trailed off, racking his brains trying to remember what her name was. He could swear he'd seen her around before as well- that shoulder-length curly hair, that roundish face, and those amber-hazel eyes of hers, which were staring up at him right now, definitely rang a bell- but he was pretty sure he'd never spoken to her before in his life. What was her _name_?

"I — I just wanted to ask you… Something…" She stood there for a moment, blushing fiercely. Then, she clenched her fists and scrunched her eyes tightly shut, before blurting out the last thing he'd been expecting to hear. "P-p-please w-would you go to the Yule Ball with me?"

"Eh…?" Completely taken aback, so much so that he didn't hear the loud 'OOOOH's of his classmates around him, Harry didn't even stop to consider the matter. "Yeah, I…"

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" And before he knew it, the Hufflepuff girl had leapt forward, putting her arms around him to hug him, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, before running off in the direction she'd come, almost jumping for joy. Shocked speechless, all that Harry could manage to do for a few moments was to just stand there, rooted to the spot, while Dean, Seamus and Ron all burst out laughing.

All the way through History of Magic, Harry had to endure Dean's, Seamus's, and Ron's taunts about the curly-haired Hufflepuff third-year girl. But he couldn't pay either them or the incessant droning lecture of Professor Binns much attention- he was too preoccupied with going over what had happened in the corridor on the way there, basking in the afterglow of that cuddle, and that kiss. Touching the spot on his cheek where he'd been kissed, tracing the outline of her lips with his fingers. Who was that girl? And why had she decided to ask him out?

 _ **A/N: Writer's block struck, AGAIN, so after more than two months' worth of sitting at my desk, bashing my head against the keyboard into the small hours every single night, trying and trying, harder and harder, to make even a few words' worth of progress on the other fanfics without dropping below the standards I set myself- to no avail, of course- I tried to build on a few of my own story prompts, mesh them together into one and to make a start on yet another new story which I don't yet* have writer's block on. AGAIN. Once again, I apologize for being such a worthless, useless, incapable excuse for a writer. And, well, here it is. If there are ANY beta readers out there, any at all, then please, PLEASE can you help me? Because otherwise, I don't think I'm going to able to complete even a single work.**_

 _ *** As of the publication date of this fanfic.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and the setting of this universe, are the intellectual property of JKR and Warner Brother, not myself- the proceeds and revenues are theirs and theirs alone. All that I own is the OC characters, and the AU information exclusive to my own fanfic.**_

 **Chapter 2- Miss Vane and a Name**

 **Saturday 5th December 1994**

"Come on, Harry! We've only got ten minutes until they start serving brekkers! Dunno 'bout you, but I'm starving…"

Harry wasn't, not really. And the mystery identity of that Hufflepuff girl who'd asked him out to the Yule Ball yesterday, was still on his mind, something that he just had to solve before the next time he saw her. Looking around the Gryffindor Common Room, bustling with activity as everyone else started coming down out of the dorm rooms, he finally managed to catch a glimpse of Ginny and the rest of her 3rd Year girls' dorm room-mates, over by the fireplace.

"Save me a seat, 'kay Ron? I'll catch up."

"Don't have to tell me twice. See you later!" And with that, Ron was up, up and away, dashing out through the portrait door and off to the Great Hall. With the couch all to himself now, Harry leaned back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment or two. Yeah, it'd be embarrassing, yes he'd look like a stupid self-centered prat for not knowing her name already, and yes it could kick the Hogwarts Rumor Mill into overdrive- the last thing he needed, what with Rita Skeeter still on the prowl. But she was their classmate; the only way he'd find out who the girl was, without going back to ask her, would be by asking them…

"Excuse me, please. You don't mind if I…?"

Harry sat back up at the voice, bringing his gaze down from the ceiling to find a girl standing there right beside him, gesturing that she wanted to sit on the couch next to him, in the space where Ron had been sitting. She was rather pretty- her skin was only a shade lighter than Dean's, her hair was at least as curly as Hermione's and a lot longer to boot, but she still had visible freckles. Wasn't in his year, or in Ginny's year, he knew that much. But she definitely wasn't a Firstie either; had to be one of the Second Years.

"Nah, course not. Take a seat." Harry turned his attentions back to Ginny, and that pack of Third Year girls she was standing with. There was nothing else for it- he'd just have to brave the risks, go over there, and ask them about the Hufflepuff girl. How hard could it be? No, wait- Ginny! Ginny could keep a secret. All he had to do was get her, just her, away from the rest of the pack, and ask her in private. Yeah, that'd work…

"…nnagotoodaballwimmee!?"

Say what now? Nonplussed, Harry raised an eyebrow, turning to stare blankly at the younger girl sitting beside him on the couch. Who was staring up at him, smiling at him and waiting for him to respond, even though he didn't have the slightest clue what it was she'd just said. Just sitting there and looking at each other, the silence stretched on and one, getting more and more awkward, until it became too much to handle- the girl's bold smile slipped away, the confidence in her eyes and on her face visibly crumbling into dust.

"T-That is, if you think I'm good enough. Am I? Good enough? I mean, I'm really clever, I get perfect grades in practically all my subjects, I'm good at magic, I'm popular, my friends and family all tell me that I'm pretty! But, I'm, just, well — me. You, you're Harry Potter; you're so much more special, more amazing than I'll ever be, and I don't know if I — if I'm…?" Finally running out of breath, the girl slumped her shoulders and buried her head in her lap, her chest heaving.

Oh crap, what had he done now? Even if he hadn't had a clue what she'd said, he didn't need to stare her down like _that_. _You bloody plonker…!_ Harry face-palmed himself, doing his best to smooth away the confused frown on his face and soften his gaze, before tentatively reaching out to gently tap the girl's shoulder. The second-year girl started, startled at his touch, before slowly starting to sit up straight again, fiercely rubbing her left eye to keep the half-shed tear which threatened to fall from it at bay as she turned to look him in the eyes once more.

"What? What sort of question is that?" Harry asked. "Course you are."

"I — I am? But, but…"

"What's your name?"

"R-Romilda. Vane. Romilda Vane, that's my name…" The second-year girl, Romilda, forced out a laugh at her little rhyme, but you could tell that her heart wasn't in it.

"Romilda. Listen here; don't believe any of that 'Special One' crap that Skeeter and the Prophet prints about me, alright? I'm just a regular guy, just like anyone else. And you, you are every bit as special and amazing as I am. 'Are you good enough' — is that even a question? _Yes._ Course you are. And don't let anyone tell you different, or make you feel like you're not good enough. Got that?"

Harry smiled kindly, staring softly into Romilda's caramel amber eyes. Sitting alongside him, she'd gone so still that you'd have thought she'd been put under the body-bind curse for a moment there- she'd even stopped rubbing her eye in mid-rub, with her left hand just frozen there in mid-air. Then, just as if it'd been released, all at once, Romilda's left arm fell slack by her side, that stray tear started to trickle its way down the side of her face, and the corners of her mouth wobbled upwards. _There we go, that's more like it…_

Harry grinned- only to have the grin abruptly wiped off his face when Romilda caught him completely off guard, flinging her arms around him to give him a tight squeeze and bury her face in his chest. "Oh, Harry! Harry…!"

"Whoa! Easy, easy there, steady on a bit…" Not knowing what else to do, Harry patted her on the back, casting his eyes around the common room and inwardly breathing a sigh of relief at the realization that they weren't drawing anyone's attention. Still, this was a _bit_ much- he patted her again, harder, then harder still, until she finally took the hint, loosened her grip and let go.

"S-sorry, Harry. It's just that, what you said, it meant so much to me — catch you later, 'kay?"

"Yeah, sure. Any time, Rom." Romilda giggled at that, and Harry could've sworn she actually blushed a little bit as she got up and walked away, looking a bit light on her feet as she followed the same path Ron had a few minutes earlier, out through the portrait door to presumably make her way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Or at least, he'd thought Ron had only gone a few minutes earlier. Turned out it'd been almost ten minutes already. Cripes, dealing with girls could really eat up your time, didn't it? Especially when they could be so bloody emotional sometimes.

Harry pulled out his wand, casting a quick drying spell to try and clear away the little patch where Romilda had snuggled her face up against his chest, and brushed that tear off onto him. Even with it definitely bone-dry, and with no way that any of it could've seeped through his water-tight robe, that spot somehow still felt uncomfortably warm, soft. Harry did his best to ignore it, shove that out of his mind; he wasn't done yet.

He still had to solve the mystery of who the Hufflepuff girl was, and while Ginny and her circle of friends were still lingering in the common room, didn't look like they'd be sticking around for too much longer either. _Well, let's get this over with…_ Taking a deep breath, smoothing out the imaginary creases in his robes, Harry called out to her. "Hey, Ginny! Mind if I ask you something?" Harry waved to her to come over and join him.

 _Giggling should be made illegal,_ Harry thought furiously, just about managing to keep the angry grimace off his face, when all of the girls stood around Ginny, her group of friends, all burst out into a rambunctious fit of very loud giggling. Then, they all huddled together around her and started whispering among themselves, loudly but only just not quite loud enough for him to manage to catch a word of what any of them were saying. It seemed to take an age, but at last, Ginny broke away from the group, smoothing out the imaginary creases in her own robes, before marching over to him, clasping her hands together.

"Yes, Harry?" Seemed like there was something in Ginny's eyes- they looked a bit watery, and she was blinking way more than normal, her eyelashes fluttering around like the leaves on a Flutterby Bush. Looking down at her chest, looked like she was panting a little too, as if she was slightly out of breath.

Harry shrugged it off though. It was probably that nasty strain of the flu, going around in the Tower. Ron and Seamus both figured that it had to be Malfoy and the other Slytherins who were to blame, and they'd done it to sabotage the Gryffindors' efforts to bag dates for the Yule Ball. _If the slithery snakes were behind it, it was definitely working out well enough for them so far_ … "Harry?"

"Oh, yeah, right. Sorry Ginny, got distracted a bit there."

"Eheheh. It's alright, Harry." Ginny plonked herself down right next to him on the couch, even closer than Romilda had- any closer, and she'd have been sitting in his lap. "So, you, wanted to ask me…? What did you want to ask?"

"Well — you know I have to have a partner at the Yule Ball, right? So I was wondering if you could, you know, help me out a bit. With that."

"Yes, Harry? Anything. Just, say it. Please. If y-you want to ask me, just ask, and I promise I'll give you the answer. Promise…" Ginny leaned into him, looking up at him through her still fluttery eyelashes.

"Thanks, Ginny. Thing is, the weirdest thing happened yesterday. Bumped into this girl in the corridor, on the way to History of Magic. Hufflepuff, in your year; curly brown hair, bit on the short side, with a roundish face. But not, like, fat or anything. Ring a bell?"

Unexpectedly, Ginny huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. "Yeah, that sounds like Heather Figg. Don't tell me she's started wearing one of those awful badges too, and taken up Harry-baiting? She was the only girl from Hufflepuff in our year who hadn't, I'd thought she was alright…"

"Nah, nothing like that. She asked me to go to the Yule Ball with her."

Ginny took a sharp intake of breath, taking a step backward and clasping her hand over her mouth. _Yep, definitely the Flu._ Must've been one humongous sneeze she'd just had to hold back though- her eyes were bulging wide open, watering so hard that she'd definitely wind up spilling a couple of tears the next time she blinked.

" _Gazuntite_. So, she's alright then? Awesome! Thanks, Ginny. See you later then — you're a great friend, I owe you one…!" Ginny only managed to offer a barely audible splutter in response; as he walked off, offering a parting wave over his shoulder, she didn't even wave back.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and the setting of this universe, are the intellectual property of JKR and Warner Brother, not myself- the proceeds and revenues are theirs and theirs alone. All that I own is the OC characters, and the AU information exclusive to my own fanfic.**_

 **Chapter 3: Revelations and Intimidations**

Leaving the common room behind, Harry joined the stream of all the other Gryffs who were heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast as well, picking up his pace a bit and breaking into a light jog, overtaking all of the others who were taking their time and meandering along at a more leisurely pace. Harry recognized Romilda as one of them, passing her halfway down the Marble Staircase to the Entrance Hall.

She hadn't been kidding when she'd said she was popular- she was surrounded by a pack of girls which was easily big enough to rival the size of Ginny's. And he hadn't thought it'd be possible, but somehow, they were even rowdier and gigglier than Ginny's lot. When he offered the girl a quick smile and a wave in passing, more than a few of Romilda's friends actually squealed out loud, hugging her and pulling her arm up to make her to wave back.

Romilda looked more embarrassed than anything else though, shyly smiling back at him and blushing visibly in spite of her dark skin. And he'd been put on the spot by Ron, Seamus and Dean more than often enough to be able to relate. Speaking of which… Entering the Great Hall, Harry strode across to the Gryffindor table, taking his seat next to Ron. Hermione still wasn't there, and neither was Neville, but all of the other guys from his dorm were. Course, Ron was too busy tucking in to talk- the Elves down in the kitchens were really outdoing themselves with their cooking lately. But Seamus and Dean started up where they'd left off yesterday straight away.

"Oh-ho, here's our ladies' lad," said Seamus. "Move over Diggory, the Hufflepuffies have 'emselves a new heart-throb! Ain't that right, Harry?"

"She's a pretty one too," Dean added, picking up an chocolate-garnished almond croissant and gesturing towards the spot where the girl was sitting at the Hufflepuff table, those curly cinnamon locks of hers instantly recognisable even with her back turned to them. "Who'd you say she was again? 'Whatsername'?"

"It's _Heather_ , Dean _._ Found out who she is, and her name's Heather. Heather Figg…"

Harry trailed off, all other thoughts grinding to a halt, as the girl's name finally registered. Hold up, just a sec- Figg? _Figg_?! That was the same name as the Dursleys' batty old cat-obsessed neighbour, wasn't it? The one who they'd always leave him with whenever they went off on holidays! But Ms. Figg wasn't a witch, was she? Nah, she couldn't be. Not her. Her place had to be one of _the_ most boring, mundane places on the planet.

Sure, it'd been better than the Dursleys, but he'd never particularly enjoyed his time there. All she'd ever show him, or prattle on about, whenever he'd been left over there, were pictures of those butt-ugly, weird-looking cats of hers- whoa. Cats which all looked almost _exactly_ like Crookshanks did! Those squashed-up faces that looked like they'd run into brick walls, those bottle-brush tails, that overly long and shaggy fur, those bandy legs…

Harry's mouth gaped open at the revelation, his breakfast completely forgotten. How had he never seen it before? Ms. Figg's cats, those ones in her photo album- they were all part-kneazles! And you couldn't get one of those if you were a muggle, could you? No, they couldn't, surely. Which meant that, Ms. Figg, she _had_ to be…! But _how_? If she _was_ a witch, then she'd _have_ to have known who he was, right? And _he'd_ have been clued in by her, about _who_ he was, as the Boy Who Lived, and _what_ he was, as a wizard, donkey's years ago- wouldn't he? _Shouldn't_ he…?

"You alright Harry?" Ron asked, with his mouth half-full, looking a bit concerned.

"Just…" Harry snapped his jaw shut, tried to gather his thoughts. "Just wondering, that's all. D'you know if her family's magical or not? Heather Figg's?"

"Figg? Oh yeah, definitely." Ron said. "Least, they were. Mum's mentioned them before, said they fought on our side in the War. She reckoned they got wiped out by You-Know-Who though, all besides a few squibs. But if this girl's a Figg, maybe her parents pulled through? Or maybe her dad was a squib? I dunno."

"Maybe," Harry echoed dully.

"Anyhow, those lot were proper loyal," said Ron. "If she's a Figg, chances are she'll be pretty decent."

"An' soon enough, if you 'ave your way with 'er, she'll be pretty _in_ decent, eh? Heheh…" Seamus chuckled.

While the rest of them groaned at the cringeworthy pun, Harry just ignored it, his mind elsewhere. Looking up towards the Staff Table, he could see that the Headmaster was sitting there in his customary throne-like chair, and already looking his way. Dumbledore wasn't wearing his typical grandfatherly smile either — instead, it almost looked as though there was the faintest hint of a frown on his face. Suddenly pissed off, wondering what his problem was, Harry narrowed his eyes to toss back a glare, before turning his head away in a huff, and redirecting his gaze toward the Hufflepuff table.

Harry had to admit that things had definitely improved for him since he'd managed to make it through the first task, even with the dauntingly embarassing prospect of opening the ball ahead of him. Especially with the Hufflepuffs — he hadn't been attracting nearly as much unpleasantness from them in the corridors any more, which he suspected had a lot to do with Cedric Diggory, returning the favour and telling them to leave him alone in gratitude for that tip-off he'd given him about the dragons.

There seemed to be fewer of those Support Cedric Diggory! badges around, and excluding Draco Malfoy and his bunch of cronies, no-one had flashed POTTER STINKS! at him or given Rita Skeeter's article a mention since his run-in with the Hungarian Horntail. Even so, there were still plenty of people wearing those badges at the Hufflepuff table, more than enough for Harry to get a good idea about the kind of reception he'd get from them if he walked over there, went up to where Heather Figg was sitting and asked to talk to her.

Besides, given what he wanted to talk to her about, all of these burning questions that he just had to ask now? No, it most certainly was not the sort of stuff which he'd want to discuss at a table in the Great Hall, here in front of everybody. No, it'd be for the best if he didn't get up and go over to her right now, if he waited 'til later to go find Heather Figg again and have a chat with her, in private. Later. It'd have to wait until later…

* * *

A lot later. He'd only started eating after Hermione and Neville arrived, and then, when he'd turned around, Heather Figg was already gone. He'd asked Ginny again, who'd turned up with her friends by then, to try and get an idea of where to find Heather, but that had been a big mistake. Harry still didn't have a clue what he'd done that could've ticked them all off, but whatever the reason, they'd all been properly riled up. And Ginny herself? She'd been downright savage. What was with her today anyway…?

Yeah, sure, he got that she was still grouchy 'cause of this flu she was suffering through, making her nose all runny and making her eyes water like no-one's business. But still, Harry would never have expected Ginny to do that. To Ron, yeah, but to him? Not in a million years. She'd never even so much as raised her voice at him before, but today, she'd actually raised her wand and hexed him with it, right out of the blue. He'd heard a lot about how painful that Bat-Bogey Hex of hers was from Ron and the twins, but he'd never really paid it much notice.

Now though, after he'd been on the receiving end of it for the first time, he could fully appreciate just how painful it was to have a whole host of bats all jostling with each other to claw their way out of one's nostrils. Bloody hell, even getting the insides of his nostrils scoured with barbed wire couldn't possibly hurt as much as that. It'd been almost an hour since then, and his nose was _still_ bleeding?

Harry grimaced. Scraping a couple of wads of lint out of the depths of his pockets, he used his wand to cast _Engorgios_ on them and stuffed them up his nostrils to try and stop up the dripping streams of blood, suppressing a hiss at the raw pain. Still, painful though it might be, there was no way he'd go to see Madam Pomfrey for something like this, for nothing more than a bad nose-bleed. He wasn't a wuss.

Meandering down the corridor alone, Harry still couldn't make up his mind whether to head for the Hufflepuff or Gryffindor Common Room. He'd invited Ron to come with him, but his best friend'd gone with Dean and Seamus instead, redoubling his efforts to get a hot girl of his own to be his partner for the Yule Ball. Ron had been kind of down-in-the-dumps though, since yesterday. Not nearly as much as he'd been before the First Task, but still…

"Potter? Harry Potter?"

Caught off guard by the girl's voice, coming from only a few feet away, Harry whipped around to face the speaker, with his wand still raised. Or at least he would've been face to face with her, if she'd been the same height as he was. As it was, he instead found himself staring straight into her bosom instead. Her pretty large bosom…

"Ah-hem. Do you mind? Up here. I have a question for you…"

Flushing red, Harry blinked to try and clear away whatever entrancement was still luring his eyes back towards her ample cleavage, and craned his neck back to peer up at the girl standing before him, looking down on him haughtily. Groaning inwardly in embarrassment as one of the wads he'd shoved up his nostrils fell out, and the blood started trickling out again. Was she giving him that look cause he'd stared at her boobs for too long, and did it just seem like she was looking down on him because she was at least a foot taller? It was kind of hard to tell…

"Eh? Oh, right. Nah, not at all- go on, fire ahead."

"Will you accompany me to the Yule Ball? Be my partner."

"You… Whoa… I, I, I don't know what to say…" Flummoxed, Harry stood there for a few moments, trying to process her request, which had sounded disturbingly like a demand. She was quite good looking; not just her hourglass figure, which looked like it could belong to one of those models from Dudley's secret stash of dirty magazines, but her face looked pretty enough as well. Or at least, it did for a second. Before the faint, fleeting smile on her face broadened into an unnervingly wide grin, with her hands curling up into fists. Her heavy-lidded eyes almost flickering with intent, she stepped in closer, way too close for comfort.

"Oh, yes you do, Harry Potter," she breathed, a few flowing locks of her dark, silky-smooth hair brushing against the side of his face as she leaned down to huskily whisper it into his ear. "Just, one, word…"

"Potter!"

Harry jumped at the sound of Snape's unmistakable voice, breaking his eyes away from hers to see the dark, towering figure of the Potions Master ominously bearing down on him, snapping him out of his stunned silence.

"Y-YES! Sorry, just, give me a sec…"

"There we go- that wasn't so hard, was it? See you soon, Potter…"

"What? No, wait- I didn't mean-" Too late. The tall girl had already gracefully side-stepped the approaching Potions Master (with Harry doing a double-take at the sight of the two of them side-by-side, and at the startling realization that she was only an inch or two shorter than Snape was), and was well on her way down the corridor, out of earshot.

"Potter! The Headmaster wants to have a word with you."

"But, I need to go after her…!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for that blatant display of disrespect, Potter," spat Snape. "Now come along- I have far better things to be doing with my time…"

"So go off and do them! Just, give me a second, alright…?" Harry tried to go around him, but the greasy git moved to cut him, stopping him from pushing past.

"Twenty points! Back-chat me like that again, boy, and it'll be fifty!"

Taking in a sharp breath, just about managing to hold his tongue, Harry glared up at Snape angrily, staring him down, but the dark wizard didn't budge- instead, he merely narrowed his coal-black eyes, turning that ugly hooked nose of his up at Harry and fixing him with a look of utter contempt. "My my, you have been busy, haven't you Potter? The Hufflepuff and Gryffindor girls, I could understand, but I'd at least expect one of my Slytherins to have higher standards. To know better than to be taken in by your wiles…"

Say what? One of his Slytherins…? Wait. He'd almost missed it entirely, what with the pair of big distractions it'd been perched in between, but the colour of that girl's tie- it'd been green! Cripes, she HAD been a Slytherin! Snape nodded, his scowl replaced by a broad, darkly amused smirk at the expression of horror on Harry's face. "But no matter. Be it upon your over-inflated head; I believe I shall enjoy watching it get punctured at long last."

"Kill me now," Harry groaned, holding his head in his hands.

"Tempting though that offer may be, Potter, I think I'll leave that to Miss Rosier. Now move it, Potter. The Headmaster's office! Now!"


End file.
